


Last Train

by glackedandmullered



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Injury, train crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:02:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glackedandmullered/pseuds/glackedandmullered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should have just waited for the damn delayed flight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Train

Six percent battery. Shit. 

He definitely shouldn’t have spent the last 2 hours playing Piano Tiles, fucking Gus getting him hooked on that stupid game. Not to mention he’d been texting Gavin back and forth for the entire journey from Dallas to Austin. The Brit was adamant that they talk about some shit that had gone down in the days while Michael had been away, and since the flight had been delayed to a point where he wouldn’t even be home for days, Gavin was determined to fill every second with a text tone Michael had been forced to turn to silent. There was only one other person in the carriage with him, a hipster teenager with his woolly bobble hat pulled down over his hair and plaid shirt open way too far down. The thing that Michael noticed first though, was the fact that the boy had an iphone charger plugged into the socket beside his seat, and he was half tempted to go over there and ask to borrow it so he wouldn’t be stuck for the last couple of hours completely to his own thoughts. 

Instead, deciding it wasn’t worth the conversation, he unlocked the screen again and started typing out a reply, disregarding Gavin’s last message. 

_Phone’s about to crap out, will see you at home._

**Is that just an excuse so I’ll shut up?**

_Absolutely._

He laughed to himself as he dropped the phone back to the table in front of him, and settled back in his seat with a bored huff. Just two more hours and he’d be back on his couch with his boys, and a much needed drink. There was a reason that trains weren’t popular, and he would rather wait days for a delayed plane than do this again. The hipster kid seemed to have given up on his phone too, instead having pulled the beanie all the way over his eyes and he seemed to be sleeping in his chair. Michael wished he could do the same, but he was definitely the type to sleep too long and miss his stop so instead he settled for simply half closing his eyelids and watching the world pass him by. 

His phone was the first thing to break when the train jolted forward and the first scream ripped through the air. Next came shattering glass, followed within seconds by cracking bones and splitting skin. He was rocketed out of his seat with force, through a dust filled wind tunnel that pressed him back against whatever was digging painfully into his spine. The ground beneath him was moving, the carriage shifting at break-neck speed as it was dragged along by nothing but momentum, his back was getting beaten to hell by the fast moving glass shards and he barely registered them coming to a screeching, grinding halt, before his head collided sharply with the side of the carriage, and he knew nothing more. 

Blink.

Pitch black, punctuated by a blinking light overhead. Nothing but hissing and muffled far away screaming over the blank silence radiating through his head. He doesn’t try and move. 

Blink.

There are whirring, flashing shades of blue and red outside the cabin. He dares to look around in confusion, but left his head hits a solid block and right all he sees is a tables edge splattered with something dark and thick. Blood. A plaid shirt-covered arm is sticking out from underneath it. He figured out that he’s laying on top of what would be the window he had been watching the scenery go by through; he knows this because he’s sure there is glass in his back and every time he moves it pulls and tugs in the most discomforting way. 

Blink. 

Hands underneath him, pulling him up even as the scream ripped from his chest at the tearing pain through his whole body. He’s telling them to stop, or at least he’s trying. He must be trying because someone, somewhere tells him they’re sorry, that they have to get out. He’s passed between two thick bars, his arms running along sharp broken glass that lines the blasted open windows and the same voice apologises again. He’s barely a few feet from the crash site when the world behind him explodes into blinding orange and red, the force throwing he and his rescuer to the ground, his body shielded by the other. Lungs filling with heat and dust, he chokes on every breath that dared to slither into his throat; he was being moved again but everything was pain and panic. Rushing through his bloodstream, unstoppable. 

Then nothing. 

\---

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, he said 8 right?”

“That’s what the text said.”

“Then why isn’t he here?”

“I don’t know.” 

\---

“Do you think the train got delayed too?”

“I have no idea but I wish we could call him.”

“Try it again, just in case.”

“It’s dead, Geoff. It doesn’t even ring.”

“I just wish he’d fucking get here.”

“We all do.”

\---

“All the trains have been stopped in Taylor, delays on the line.”

“The 11:50 from Dallas, what about that one.”

“I’m sorry sir, all I know is that no train is coming further than Taylor.” 

\---

He was one huge bruise. 

He couldn’t be anything else, surely. Blinking hurt, the motion letting in too much light and shooting lightning into his brain. Groaning, he was rudely informed of the presence of others when voices suddenly assaulted his ears and catapulted him into awareness.

“Sir? Are you with us, sir?” She was high pitched, her voice like nails driving directly into his skull. He groaned again. _please shut up._

“Michael? Michael Jones? You’ve been involved in a crash, you’re in the hospital, can you open your eyes?” He tried, he honestly did, this voice was quieter, smoother like silk, and acted as a balm on his mind. The light was piercing still, more lightning making him feel sick in every part of his body. 

“Bright.” He croaked out, throat feeling like he had swallowed glass; though with what she had said, crash, he very well might have.

He heard movement, mumbling, and then the light above him dimmed, the harsh fluorescent glow through his eyelids fading, leaving only traces of the pain behind. 

“Try now.” Smooth voice was back. 

He did, and it was a hell of a lot easier this time, his eyes sliding open slowly. After blinking a couple of times to clear the blur he realised he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and that blur was sticking around. 

“There you are.” Michael didn’t need to be able to see the face to know she was smiling, but he could only respond by blinking rapidly again, the headache and just general pain mixed with the disorientation of not being able to see properly was making him want to throw up.  
A hand gesture and a blur moved fast beside him. He couldn’t keep track of the movement until a hand was waving around in front of his face and cold metal touched his face, his world clearing. For the most part anyway. 

“Sorry they’re a bit cracked.” Smooth voice apologised. A bit was an understatement. There was a solid line straight across the left side of his vision, and a speckling of scratches on his right, but he could see the faces in front of him more or less, so he couldn’t complain.

“Hi.” She smiled, she was dark haired and fair skinned, the light behind her head glowing almost like a halo above her. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked softly, though he could only manage a groan in response that he hoped sounded as sarcastic as he wanted it to. She nodded knowingly before letting the nurse who had handed him his glasses step forward with a clipboard in hand. 

“Do you have anyone we can call?” He reached out through his fried braincells, searching for names. They were swirling around in his head but he couldn’t match them to numbers, saying Geoff or Ryan or any of them would mean jack shit to these people. Finally he settled on the best he could come up with. 

“mmmm roosterteeth.” He croaked softly, his head was pounding and every word they said was a nail digging into the soft tissue of his brain. 

“Sir?” The woman said again, shaking his shoulder gently ow no stop don’t do that. “Is there anyone we can call?” Michael groaned internally and smacked his lips before trying again. 

“Rooster...teeth.” The pain was making him dizzy and he sighed thankfully when someone placed something hard and cold over his face, a rush of cool, fresh air flooding to his struggling lungs. 

“What...say.” 

“... don’t...’ing...roosterteeth.” 

“Michael? what is roosterteeth?” Smooth voice was leaning into view now.

“mm, work.” He barely manages to whisper, he just wants to go to sleep, the combination of medication running through his veins and the sweet fresh oxygen forcing it’s way down to his lungs was giving him a floating feeling he couldn’t shake. It was nice. If only these shits would let him go. 

“You work at this...roosterteeth?” Finally they were getting it. He couldn’t manage any more than a grateful nod before he was fading back into black. Before he could, he managed to choke out a final question.

“How long…” He swallowed around the grit in his throat and prayed that the nurse would understand without him having to continue. 

“Just over 2 days.” She replied softly, and switched out the mask over his face for a nasal tube that sat uncomfortably in his nostrils. The sweet oxygen and the steady drip of morphine emptying into his veins lulled him to sleep. 

\---

When his earpiece went silent during a recording of The Patch, Burnie knew something was wrong. All he had heard was a soft voice saying words that didn’t quite reach the microphone before the earpiece lost all connection. He tried to continue as normal, but it was hard, concern building inside at the radio silence before there was a click and Kara was back, her voice shaky as she spoke. 

“Burnie, there’s been an accident.” That set him on high alert immediately, shooting a questioning look towards the booth, that was completely lost in the florescent set lights, he was stopped from saying anything by a shushing sound. 

“Don’t let on to Ryan, but it’s Michael.” He barely had a chance to react before a new voice joined the brief conversation. 

“Michael?” Burnie cringed at the British voice ringing out clearly from behind Kara. 

“Did you say Michael? Is he here? He was supposed to be back Sunday night.” 

“Burnie?” Ryan was leaning over the table, trying to meet his eye, and looking like Burnie had grown an extra head. “You coming back to join the conversation?” 

Despite the nagging going on through his earpiece now he forced himself to shake it off with a sheepish laugh. “Sorry guys, it’s just Kara in my ear again, I can’t think with that noise.” He needn’t have lied, for a few seconds later they got their answer. 

“Train crash?!” The shout was loud enough to be heard outside of the tech booth and an almighty crash sounded from that end, beyond the bright focused lights, and suddenly Gavin was barreling over towards the set. The _on air_ sign went dark, signaling Kara’s common sense to cut the stream. He collided with the desk, his gangly limbs flying all over the place in his panic.

“Michael was in a train crash!” He screeched at Ryan who in turn leapt out of his seat and ignored everything else as they darted back towards the booth, barely missing the tangled wires across the floor. Burnie and Gus looked at each other in shock, not managing to catch the pair when they reemerged and vanished through the main doors. 

 

\---

“I’m fine, just give me the damn thing to sign and let me get out of here.” 

“Mr Jones, I really can’t advise that you-”

“You don’t have to advise me, i’m leaving either way.” 

“Michael!” The man stopped his verbal assault on the nurse and turned in surprise to the group of men practically sprinting down the hallway. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, accepting the hug that Gavin forced on him, pain rippling through his ribs and back. He must have let out a displeased noise because the next second the Brit had leapt away from him and was eyeing him with concern, as the others were too, come to think of it. 

“What do you mean what are we doing here? You were in a fucking train crash!” He yelled, lowering his voice to a hiss at the glare he received from the nurse who was stood with a form laid out on the desk in front of her, waiting for someones signature. “Did you think we wouldn’t find out? Or that we would and just wouldn’t come to see you?” Michael shook his head.

“No not that, of course not.” Brain muddled, he found it hard to put the words together. “I just expected Burnie or something, I didn’t realise they’d told you.” Geoff folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow.

“And you didn’t think to call us?” 

“I had- uhh have… a pretty heavy concussion, I don’t even remember telling them Burnie’s number but they told me they spoke to my boss.” His guilty tone softened Geoffs anger and the man took note of the bruises lining the entire left side of his lover face, scratches slicing red into the purples and blacks, and he was reminded that the man had been through hell and yelling at him would do nothing to help.

“All you could tell us was roosterteeth when you woke up, we googled it.” The nurse supplied helpfully, nudging the pen towards Michaels bandaged hand. “If you’re really insisting on leaving then you need to sign this AMA form.” 

“AMA? Michael if they don’t want you to leave then you shouldn’t.” Ryan scolded gently but Michael waved a dismissive hand at the notion. 

“I’m fine Ryan, really, I’m a bit sore but I’ll just lay in bed at home for a couple of days and I’ll be good to go, not like I’d be doing anything else here anyway.”

“Tell us the truth.” The blonde man addressed the nurse, and she made a face that said I shouldn’t be telling you, but regardless listed off a number of ailments without making eye contact.

“He’s got a grade 3 concussion, 4 cracked ribs, a number of stitched lacerations on his back and is on a lot of heavy pain medication.” Michael could have laughed at the comical way they all turned to look at him with horror on their faces. 

“I’m fine.” Michael insisted, though the clouding in his eyes from the pain that was slowly blossoming throughout his body as the medication the nurse had mentioned started to wear off.

“Yeah, you look just peachy.” Ray said sarcastically, folding his arms across his chest. Michael tried to get angry, tried to let out a frustrated growl but it came out as a whimper; he couldn’t help the way his resolve cracked. Sniffling, he turned to Geoff, who in turn frowned softly at the lads change in demeanor. 

“Everyone here was in the crash, they’re all crying and the guy in the bed next to me died last night.” He spoke very quickly, trying to keep the frightened tears from spilling over his cheeks, but had no luck stopping the crack in his voice. 

Geoff said nothing more, just nodded once and asked quietly for a wheelchair, gently forcing Michael down into it not allowing him to protest. The soft squeeze on his shoulder from tattooed hands was comfort enough, and he just let them wheel him to the car, ease him into the seat, and buckle his seatbelt for him before they were pulling away from the hospital.   
Michael already missed the drugs.

The drive home was quiet, silent save for the occasional awkward cough from somewhere around him and the low volume thrum of the radio that Jack had leaned over to turn on after almost 10 minutes of nothing. Michael would have initiated conversation, would have done something, but the pain that had picked up from the moment he left the hospital was halting his ability to do anything but draw in tight breaths and keep from crying out at every pothole they encountered. Almost every time the car was jolted Jack would apologise, mumbling quiet sorrys even though Michael held up his hand at every chance to tell him it was okay. It wasn’t, but Jack couldn’t help the state of the road. 

It took around an hour, with traffic, to get from the hospital in Taylor to their home in Austin and, by the time they were pulling into the driveway, Michael could have happily stayed right there and just passed out from the ache in his body. The stitches on his back were rubbing through the dressing from the pressure on the seat, and his head was throbbing so bad he felt like someone was cracking him on the skull with a sledgehammer. When everyone had gotten out of the car already and were heading inside, Michael remained in his seat, nausea in his stomach, and breathing painfully laboured. Ryan was the first to notice and go back, leaning over the back seat to encourage him out. He could have cried at the strike of agony that lanced through his ribs when he tried to move to the seat one over from him, his eyes were definitely watering, and he had to try extra hard to focus on Ryan while the man shushed him and told him it was okay. 

The shallow breathing for the nausea was agitating his cracked ribs, he knew that much, but every deep breath he took just threw his resolve completely. He was given painkillers, the strongest he could have with the others that he had been given at the hospital, and ordered to just try and stay calm and breath while they helped him to the house. 

There he remained on the couch for the rest of the day. Alternating between light dozing and trying to stay awake long enough to talk to his boyfriends, though that was never easy. They stayed by him the whole day. Whenever he found himself blearily waking for a brief period, he could feel himself being held in someones strong, warm arms. The position was trying on his injuries but it didn’t stop him from falling asleep time after time so who was he to complain?

Once the first few days had passed in a drugged haze, Michael was getting back to himself. He had been sleeping in the guest room for the last few days, with someone else on the blow up mattress beside him; he had protested but they reminded him how clingy Gavin and Jack got in their sleep and it would be no good whatsoever for his healing body if Gavin ended up on top of him in the middle of the night. So he had relented on the condition that he didn’t have to be alone in there. They all called him stupid for even considering the idea that they would leave him to sleep alone. 

After a few nights however, he felt ready to try sleeping in the big bed again, granted that he was on the other side of the mattress to the clingy sleepers, but after sleeping for less than an hour, he realised it wasn’t going to be that simple.

Growling deep in his throat he peeled away the covers from his sweaty body and sat up on the edge of the bed. Cuddling wasn’t the best in the hot Texas temperature, and the stifling warmth under the sheets was less comforting, more painful on his healing ribs as he drew every breath. Although the limpet creatures were far away from him, Ray still insisted in his dream like state that he hold Michael close to him; luckily not too tightly. Still, with 5 other men under the covers, even with one leg dangling precariously off the edge, it was fucking hot. 

Looking back over his shoulder he could see that the others all looked perfectly content sleeping in the discomfort, maybe hadn’t even noticed it. Ray had turned over in his cuddle buddy’s sudden absence, and now he was quite happily holding onto Ryan. Instead of waking them, Michael slowly raised himself off the bed, wincing at the pull at his ribs. He would get a glass of water, cool off a little, and then return to the bed, maybe leaving the covers off this time. Yeah, good plan. 

Except his body wasn’t going to agree with him. 

Gradually getting more and more painful as he walked, his ribs creaked and groaned at the effort of travelling, still nowhere near being fully healed. The concussion was still lingering, making him wonky with every step and the stitches in his back pulled as his muscles flexed. 

By the time he had reached the kitchen, he was out of breath, aching to high heaven, and in dire need of a pain pill. Unfortunately they were all upstairs now, his stores in the kitchen cabinet completely depleted. Upstairs meant waking the others to fetch them for him since he was nowhere near capable of making his way back up all of those stairs to the bathroom. 

He let out a groan, a mix between pained and frustrated, and lowered himself onto the couch, raising his feet onto the end and closing his eyes against the severe discomfort. 

Then the dreams came. 

Glass shattering, he was above the scene like he was watching one of those TV reconstructions, he saw himself being tossed from side to side. Screaming assaulted his ears, piercing his brain, it took him a moment to realise that scream was coming from him. Over and over he screamed while the carriage exploded around him. In reality the train had stopped, halting after a short time, but not here. Here it kept going, sliding and scraping, crushing in and in, flames licking at the windows as he watching himself continue to be thrown from side to side, ceiling to floor, over and over and _over_. At the last moment he was catapulted back into his own body, using his own eyes to see the world flip upside down in a sickening roller coaster, his own vocal chords tearing apart with screams. The carriage was getting smaller and smaller, heating up with the flames breaking through the window. Crushing, closer and closer, and his throat bled with gargled screams, again and again and-

His eyes snapped open as the last of his screaming died in his ears. 

Geoff was leaning over him, hands hovering just short of touching Michael; In fear of hurting him or scaring him, Michael wasn’t sure. Breathing heavy, the heat of the flames and the crushing pressure still lingering on his skin, he choked out a cry, writhing on the couch in phantom and psychical pain. Once his mind had caught up with everything else, he threw himself up into Geoffs arms, heaving breaths pressing against the older mans chest as hoarse cries ripped from his throat.

“You’re okay, you’re fine, love. It’s just a dream, only a dream.” He let Geoff rock him, even though the movement jarred his cracked bones, the comfort was worth it. Was something he desperately needed. 

“You’re safe.” Geoff continued, one hand coming up to cradle Michael’s head against his shoulder, the tears he hadn’t noticed soaking into the loose fitting tee that Geoff had been sleeping in. Over Geoff’s shoulder he could see the blurred figures of his other boyfriends lingering in the doorway, obviously unsure if they should intervene. 

After a few seconds they shuffled over, still cautious of the traumatised lad, and someone placed a couple of white pills on the table beside them. He would take those later, most definitely, for the stuttering pain radiating from everywhere, but for now he would let them sooth him with words and touches only. He couldn’t say he hadn’t expected nightmares, but he had never thought they would be that severe. 

He knew one thing for sure, he still had a lot of healing to do.


End file.
